The Death League
by Eketahuna
Summary: Become a farmer, they tell fifteen year old Josh Colburn. It's a steady job without the risk of someone cutting your throat in the night. But determined and foolhardy, young Josh applies for his trainer's license anyhow. That was the easy part, survival however, that's another story.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The dusty ceiling fan hums and circles above our heads. The brief thought of it falling and slicing veins and bone darts through my mind. Normally I would let the gruesome images flourish, but not today.

I take a breath and look up. The flickering florescent lights above make the three of us seem pale and sick, perhaps we are. Greyish light creeps though the dirty slat window, dimly illuminating the small waiting room. Across from me sits a fifteen year old girl and boy. The girl is kind of bug-eyed with dirty blond pigtails and frizzy hair. I don't know her.

The boy is kicking his heels into his faded blue chair, refusing to look up. He is bigger than me, baby-faced with short shaven hair. His name is Gerald and I hate him.

The plastic chairs are uncomfortable, especially after the length of time we've been waiting. I look at my watch then remember it doesn't work anymore, not since I took it for a swim in Green Lake.

_Water o' clock… ha ha ha… _I think dryly.

I pick at a healing scab on my hand, the rest of my small scars appear purple under the artificial light. I glance up at the two kids. The stories of my scars are fascinating and I always have more than everyone else.

Gerald has starting making an annoying grunt in the back of his throat. He wouldn't appreciate my scars; he'd probably just punch me in the gut again.

I watch the buggy girl. She's picking up a dead fly from the window sill behind her, just staring at it. I wonder if she is going to eat it, the way she's glaring.

No, my scars would be too scary for her.

I keep watching the creepy girl out of the corner of my eye when the loud speaker crackles and speaks.

"Attention new trainers, the Professor will see you now." The cold female voice ends in an electronic _ding-dong. _

I take to my feet so fast I nearly fall over; my legs feel numb from sitting too long. The other two seem likewise startled. The office door at the end of the room seems to open of its own accord as we approach. More fluorescent lights illuminate the vacant, circular office. In the centre of the room lies a metal bench. Three copper circles mark the surface, half-hidden by deep, claw-like scratches-

"Ah, children, we meet at last."

I jump and quickly check to see if the others got a fright too.

Both are staring at the old man, who only grins in response. His smile is far too wide for his face and his eyes are much too small. His mouth hardly moves as he speaks. "I trust you had a pleasant journey. Who do we have today?…" Still grinning, he reaches into his grey overcoat and removes a dog-eared note. "Ah, Gerald Mahoe, Elisa Van Dyk and Josh Colburn. Welcome. I trust you had a pleasant journey?" The man asks again, still grinning.

Gerald shifts uncomfortably, his words a loud grunt. "Who are you?"

The man stops grinning a moment, but then his smile returns larger than ever. "Forgive me children, I am The Professor."

The bug-eyed girl Elisa speaks for the first time. "If I may Professor, I have a question-"

"Ah, but that will have to wait, child." He cuts her off quickly. "You have of course, come here to receive your starter pokemon."

I couldn't tell if it was a question or not but I answer anyway. "Yep, do we get one now?"  
The Professor's eyes never leave me as he claps his hands once. Gears whirl as the circles within the bench open and three steel pokeballs rise from within. "Three pokemon, three trainers, three roads," said The Professor. "But first the matter of who shall... go first."

"Me," says Gerald, glaring at me as if daring a challenge.

The toad-like Professor shows yet more of his teeth. "You have your letters?"

"Of course," says Elisa.

Gerald just grunts, slapping his pocket.

I reach into my jacket and snatch a crumbled piece of paper. I win, I got mine out first.

"Good." The Professor continues his relentless creepy smile. "Come forward, that's right. Line up in front of the bench. Now, see the carved circle in front of you."

I nod and reach for the copper circle. A stinging slap makes me pull back.

The Professor's smile wavers slightly and his tone is cold. "Please, do not do that." His sick smile widens again. "You will have filled in the appropriate forms with your original application, of course. But there is still the matter of your contract. Please insert your acceptance letter into the feed; you won't be needing it anymore."

As my letter disappears into the slot, three holographic forms appear in front of us. One each. I glance at the other two, but their faces betray neither emotion nor surprise. I try to act cool.

"Just your standard trainers contract, that the pokemon in question remains property of the Laboratory, any insubordination of league rules is punishable under the United Leagues Act 1989, the trainer bears no responsibility for death of said pokemon provided all reasonable measures are taken and a little bitty bit about absolving the Laboratory of any responsibly for trainer injury, death and so on." The Professor takes a breath. "Well, all clear? Good, sign your life away."

My stomach feels sickeningly tight.

_Come on, this is what you wanted Josh…_

A digital touchscreen beeps beside my hand. I pick up the attached stylus and sign. My signature appears instantly upon the wavering contract above.

With the tap of a button, the contracts vanish.

"Very good children. You may now meet your leased pokemon." At the Professor's words, the steel pokeballs split open. Like pixeled rain, the capsule contents scatter then solidify.

"Ch-char." The quiet purr came from the newly formed pokemon. My pokemon.

Smooth orange skin blends into the pale yellow of the lizard's belly. Soft eyes watch me while a slim tail flicks up and down, touched on the tip with a red flame.

"Charmander." I breathe, but then a pang of disappointment settles in my stomach. Charmander were not the easiest pokemon to start with. They were naturally weaker, especially in cold climates like this. It is well known that a Charmander dies if its flame ever goes out. Just another thing to worry about.

I had hoped for Bulbasaur.

I glance up to see what the other two received. Elisa observes her pokemon with an indifferent stare. A blue dinosaur-like creature backed by a large fleshy bulb seems equally disinterested.

Bulbasaur. I hope she's happy.

Gerald is a bit more interested. The turtle-like Squirtle is somewhat more wary. Every time Gerald's fingers venture near its mouth it tries to bite him.

I hope it succeeds.

The pokemon are recalled into their capsules as The Professor beams his sick grin, holding three black gloves in hand. "Now that you are acquainted I have your PokeGear. Please activate your device and set the time. It is very important to set the time."

I receive one glove and slip it on, taking care to adjust the four rings onto the corresponding fingers. I've always wanted one of these; the wires and chips are unnoticeable but very sensitive. By twitching different fingers, I can activate a holographic map, a Pokedex, a phone, radar…

I stop playing with my new toy as the Professor speaks. "We are finished here. This is where we will part ways. Remember, your performance will be up for review in one month. We will contact you then. In the mean time I suggest you aim for gym qualifications, or 'badges' as you kids call them" His grin widens but his eyes are cold. "The exit is to your left. From this point onward you are... _rivals_. Good luck in the field."

I take a breath and pick up the steel pokemon containing my pokemon, my future.

The nearing battles and badges are the last thing on my mind right now. No one knew I had applied for this, no one knew I was here.

I grimace as dread pools in my stomach.

_Father is not going to take this well…_

**Authors Note: **Wow that was longer than I expected. Anyway it'll be interesting to see what you guys think.

What did you think of the tense? I'm not a fan of present tense and I think I may have used past tense a few times there. I may change it to past tense later.

Viewpoint? I normally prefer third-person so this was a challenge.

Be honest, you can't hurt my feelings, I'm a rock.

I'm not going anywhere in the meantime so I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**AN: Well after I deleted this thing I lost the second chapter. So this thing is a complete rewrite. I tried to get it as close as possible to the original but there may be some differences, hopefully not too big.**

* * *

_How on Earth am I going to tell him?…_

Shadows stripe the darkening pumice path, cast from the peeling bodies of the dense gum trees that line either side. It has to be an hour before sundown. I'm late, fantastic, like I need to give Father more reasons to be angry.

The pale path dips down and turns, leading up to a haggard farm cottage. Moss grows between the cracks in the blackened stone walls, dirtying my fingers as I lean upon them for support, kicking my boots off before entering the hut.

My eyes take a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. Gradually the pale shapes of stantler skulls take their place upon the cobwebbed walls. A dusty hide of a tauros covers the stone floor, well-worn to the point of balding in some places. We're not much for cleaning.

Dying embers glow within the kitchen heath, tracing the outline of a large and dark man hunching at the rough oak table. The orange light catches on skin so weather-beaten it that appears like leather. Grey peppers his once-jet black hair, even more so in his short trimmed beard.

I drag one of the empty stools out from under the table and take a seat opposite him. "Father."

He nods, watching me with a hawk-like stare. "Dinner," he grunts, gesturing to the bowl of cabbage pottage on the table.

I can't eat. My stomach is so tight I wonder if I might be sick.

"Lost another ewe, must have gotten into the tutu like the other one, it's in the blackberry down the bank, near the Kenney's fence. You'll want to tend to that."

I nod, staring down at my hands.

Father huffed. "You know that Kenney's boy, Dean or something? They finally found him; he was in a warehouse in Gilford. Someone cut his throat, took all he had…"

I can feel Father's eyes settle on me. "I applied for a licence." My voice has never been so small.

Without even looking up I can feel his stare.

"Who's going to work the plough? Who's going to shear the mareep? Have you thought about that? No. You're not getting a trainers licence."

I feel a lump rise in my throat. "What about the Donnawey's boy, Jed, he's good, he needs the work, he'd help you."

"No," Father's voice takes on a hard edge. "We are not beggars, Josh, why would you even consider this… the league is why we are in this… this state. With taxes the way they are, there'll be another Purge, let me tell you that-"

"I've already gotten a pokemon," I interrupt, my voice little more than a whisper but still enough to grab his attention.

His eyes harden. "Sell it."

"I can't it's their property."

"Give it back then."

"I've signed a contract."

His voice takes a hard dry edge. "Then shoot it."

"No Father…"

Wood grinds against stone as Father suddenly pushes his chair back and stands, reaching for his walking stick.

I flinch and duck my head, but I hear only the clunk and hobble of the old farmer walking away. I chance a glance up as the candle is extinguished, and guilt fills my gut at the sight of the one-legged man. It's been three years since the plough accident; it's not something that will ever improve…

I wait until I am sure Father will have gone to bed, before entering the room opposite. There's not much to tell of, a dusty shelf hangs above my straw and timber bed. A broken stool lies beside my bed, my "table." It holds the feather of a fearow, a broken stantler antler and a few pressed clovers, basically all bits and pieces I've collected while watching the mareep for mightyena.  
This room represents my whole life. Or most of it…

But should it also be my future? We don't even own the land here, it's just a lease.

And then…

I can't put my finger on what the other feeling is. But, I know I can't answer it here.

Standing, I grab whatever in the way of possessions I think I might need. My knife, a flint, a loaf of dried bread, a string of dried venison, a water flask and, of course, the clothes on my back.

I sneak out quietly so not to wake Father. I had planned to stay the night at home but now my bed feels… cold.

The sun hangs precariously low in the eastern sky, casting vivid red light across the purpled clouds.

A red sky at night, that's supposed to be a good omen.

_Shepard's delight… so they say… whatever…_

….

I follow along the rapidly darkening forest paths, shrouded at both shoulders by the over-hanging blackwoods and old gums.

Heading off the path, down a hunting trail, I find a spot to make camp for the night. A shallow bank carves its way across the forest floor, hollowed by time. Dusty tree roots groove though the soil, supporting the impression. The chestnut clays are dry further inside, so hopefully, even if it rains, I will be too.

I pick some of the dryer fallen branches and pile them to one side. By peeling away the bark of some of the bedrock trees I can collect fine scrapings of tinder. With my flint handy, I soon have a decent fire going, the wind blowing the eye-stinging smoke into the hollow.

_Damn wind…_

Time to see what I've put it all on the line for. I remove the pokeball from my pocket and press the centre button. At once pixelated light pours from the capsule's heart, then dissipates, leaving in its place the orange body of a charmander.

My charmander.

The gold light flickers off its smooth skin as its head tilts to watch me. It seems a bit shy, but not unfriendly, simply... curious…

I toss it a piece of venison, rolling the dry dark meat across the dusty ground. The charmander sniffs the strips then snatches them, purring slightly as it eats its meal.

_Better find out what I've got, I guess…_

I twitch one of the fingers of my PokeGear, scrolling across until I find the charmander's papers.

Species: _Accharlizard emberas_

Reg no: 455683

Age: 7 months

Gender: Blood-typed female

Leasee: Cornelius Oak.

Leasor: Josh Colburn

"So a young lady eh?" I study the charmander, thinking. "A name, you need a name. I'm not going to go about calling you 'charmander'"

_Hmm… Charla, no… Ember, no… _

_Mandy, Amanda, Emma… no sounds too human…_

I kind of like Charla.

"_Charla…" _I murmur.

I think she does too.

_Hah, what do I know?… _I smile slightly as I touch Charla's warm skin, absently sliding over the miniscule scales. "I suppose we'd better get a plan together eh girl? "

We'll need supplies, the nearest town is Dewtown, about two days walk through Blackwood forest. I don't have any money, but perhaps there'll be a job of some kind there.

And I suppose after that I'll need to find a Gym.

I twitched another finger and opened my PokeGear's GPS, telling it to search for Gyms.

In the west, Kanewood's Gym is closed, but in the north Forks City has one. It's home of the gym trainer Horace Fairton,

I flick a finger to open his profile

Name: Horace Fairton

DOB: 17/6/1989

Gender: Male

Rank: 2

Age: 33

Reg pokemon:

Raichu

Pidgeotto

Stantler

He's rank 2 but I'm only Rank 1. The ranking system is designed to level what is an otherwise extremely unfair playing field. The rules for battles change as you rank up higher, but in a match with uneven ranking, the rules fall to fix the one with the lowest rank.

Rank 1 trainers are only allowed one pokemon to battle at a time. So it'll be a one-on-one fight.

I glance at Charla, thinking. Starter pokemon have basic training, otherwise it would be the blind leading the blind. Starter pokemon were also the hardest way to begin. If you were really lucky, and wealthy, you could pick up an older, stronger pokemon that may be just past its prime but still a good starter for the team.

_I'll probably need to buy one… if I can get enough money together… That application was expensive…_

Musing my tired thoughts, I glanced outside, just watching. The night has well fallen, the dark shapes of the trees slightly ominous beneath the starless sky.

Somewhere out there lies my homestead, the last trances of my childhood.

I take a shuddering breath.

_I'm sorry Father, but this is my choice…_

…..

Ugh… for those who aren't farmers, the taking care of the dead ewe refers to plucking it for wool. This is probably the most disgusting job you'll ever have to do on a farm, worse than shearing fly-strike, not sure if it's worse than calving a dead calf, those are just about tied. There isn't much that'll turn my stomach but those two things will. Good way to get blood poisoning too. Thank God that wool is virtually worthless now. No more plucking!

If you still don't know what I'm talking about, you probably don't want to.

Zakar


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A thud though the ground wakes me. My dream vanishes. My heart races from its disturbance and I try to force it to quiet, listening.

It's pitch black, it can't be far past midnight; our campfire has just burn out, barely glowing but enough to outline our shapes.

"Char…" Charla purrs, her eyes wide and alert.

"Charla… could use a bit of light here." I murmur.

She only cocks her head.

_Oh great… what commands are on this thing?..._

"Fire. Small fire. Go. Attack nothing, uh… air."

Charla still only watches me.

I growl. "Flame. Light. Ember."

The charmander spits a small flame.

"Yes. But hold it. Embeeerrrrr…" I hold my voice and let it drop until it's little more than a quiet whistle.

Charla exhales a steady stream of flame.

"Yes." I stare anxiously into the reddened darkness. Shadows shift and I swear I can hear breathing.

I whistle twice more to Charla, then stop as her tail tip has brightened with the effort and is producing enough light enough to see by.

_Maybe it was just a dream…_

"KRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

"Shit!" I hit the deck as the shadow swoops over me.

I scramble to my feet. What the hell is it?!

The shadow is growling, circling us.

"Charla!" I don't wait. The darkness is chokingly thick. My chest hurts with the stab of cold night air. Blackwood trees fly past, appearing so quickly from the gloom I fear to crash into one.

I can hear screaming in my ear. I swear I know the voice. Then it fades and I can hear another, more familiar tone.

_I've missed you Josh. so long.__.__. why are you running?… why did you leave me…?_

I feel like I'm falling, everything is just slipping away… It's actually… kind of peaceful…

A glow appears beside me and the voice shatters with a glassy scream.

"Charla! Attack! Ember!" I gasp.

Charla hesitates.

"Come on you stupid animal! DO IT!"

I can hear her draw breath. The dark is split by orange. I glance over my shoulder. The burst of fire catches in a great dark cloak. Yellow embers trail from between blood red eyes.

"KRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

I trip, a tree root catching my toe. My hands scrape stinging dirt as I hit the ground. I roll onto my back. The dark cloak is scrabbling at its eyes, screaming a terrifying sound.

Falling backwards, it flutters past the trees, away and out of sight.

I swallow, my breath ragged. I can feel my pulse in my eyes, my heart's beating so hard. But it, whatever it is, seems to be gone now.

"Yeah… we totally scared it eh Charla." I try to laugh but it comes as more of a wheeze.

Charla is heaving, shivering.

_Stress._

I should put her back in the pokeball, give her a rest, but I really don't want to be alone, not with that thing.

I struggle to my feet. My right ankle aches. It's slightly twisted. It'll be sore tomorrow but not enough to stop me walking for now.

I look up. It's much brighter now. In fact it must be early morning. How long were we running?

I shrug and follow this trail. The shady path is not one I remember but it must surely go somewhere.

Only minutes later the forest breaks and thins, and the trail continues downhill into a small valley. At its root sits a fair sized town of stone and shale.

Dewtown? But it was supposed to be two days walk. How long were we in that forest?

Oh well, I'm hungry and I don't care. Maybe there was always an easier path and it just took someone really smart like me to find it. Yeah, that must be it.

Dew blues the pasture covered hills as we follow the greasy dirt road to Dewtown. The Morning sun casts a red sky and blue clouds over our heads.

The grey buildings rise only a single story high on both sides. Boxes of green plants and flowering herbs lay outside almost every home. None of the shops seem to be open yet, so I head to the 24hr Pokemon and Trainer Centre. I figure Charla and I can have a rest there. Then later I can see if I can get a job of some kind. We're going to need the money.

The white and blue Centre stands out clearly from its drab neighbours. The sliding doors ding and open automatically.

There are two young trainers sitting in the faded plastic waiting chairs. One is a skinny red-haired boy with freckles that look like dirt over his nose. The other is a smug looking blond boy of about seventeen. He's tossing and catching a pokeball. I know him; he's that idiot Trent Barfield. Ha, he thinks he's so great just because he's bigger than me. I hate him.

I take a seat opposite them. Charla curls up on a chair beside me, looking like she won't be moving for a while.

The red-haired boy stares at me.

"What?" I demand.

"Dude… what happened to you?" He points.

I tug at my clothes, dust fluttering to the dull white floor. "Tripped." I grunt.

"Off a cliff? You look like hell."

I don't answer him. He's stupid too.

"Maybe he saw the Darkrai." Trent nods in agreement with his own statement and leans back in his chair.

I don't know what the Darkrai is. Stupid smart-ass boy. "Why?" I demand.

Trent jerks his shoulders in a so-so way. "Take a look in a mirror."

_So he thinks he can tell me what to do? Stupid-ass…_

The plastic chair groans as I rise and announce. "I am going to the toilet." I glare at Trent. "NOT to look at a mirror but because I have to pee."

He gives me a strange look as I leave.

_Heh heh heh, that'll teach him…_

Black mould grows in-between the cracks in the once-white tiles. Three sinks stand along the back wall. I pick one and start to wash my hands and face. They have soap here, in a cool pump dispenser. We don't get liquid soap back home, this is awesome.

My skin is shockingly white beneath the caked-on black dirt, and after ten minutes of washing I still can't even get it all off. Not that it bothers me much, this is fun. I keep pumping the soap dispenser until it's all gone and the sink is filled with brown bubbles.

Fun over, I glance into the smeared mirror.

My heart jumps.

_What the hell?..._

It's me but I don't look like me.

My black hair is greyed. I hastily run my hand through it.

Just dust, thank God. I quickly make note of the rest of me. My skin is yellowed and greyish, unhealthy looking. Dark shadows mar my eyes, which are unusually dark and bloodshot. When I look very closely, I can almost see black veins underneath my skin. I follow them down my neck. I open the top buttons of my shirt. On the right side of my chest the skin is discoloured, like that of an intense bruise, in the shape of a black diamond.

I swear and quickly hide the marks.

It has to be that dark cloak thing. The Darkrai. Has to be. But why? How?

I close my eyes and wash my face, refusing to look anymore. When I finally open my eyes my skin is slightly pinkish with the bitingly cold water. It's not as noticeable now, but I still don't seem right.

I quickly leave the bathroom. Charla jumps off her chair to follow me. The two boys call something about joining them for breakfast but I pretend I can't hear them.

Back in the late-morning sun, I feel much better. It's probably nothing, it's just because I tripped.

_Job._ The word wanders through my mind in hopes of making a connection.

The general store is probably the best place to start. The pub won't be open yet. I scan the hanging signs until I find what I'm looking for. The general store is a corner building with a tall and narrow structure. A bell rings as I enter.

Dust filtered down in the dewy light, caught in the cast from the high skylight above. Various loose vegetables and fruit stand in shelves aligned against the stone walls.

But I barely notice them.

A young woman tends her wares behind the counter. The soft scent of crushed flowers hangs around her, making my stomach tighten. She is slightly taller than me, older too, probably nineteen or twenty. A clean white apron hugs her slender figure, contrasting with her long, shiny black hair-

"Can I help you?"

I jump and hastily stare at my shoes. "I wasn't looking at you." I say quickly.

She gives me a strange look. "Can-I-help-you?" She repeats very slowly.

I clear my throat. "Uh, yeeeaaaahhh."

_Dude what's wrong with my voice?..._

I find a place on the crowded blackwood counter to prop my elbow and stretch awkwardly in order to lean casually on the counter.

I look awesome.

Except I didn't notice that the part I'm leaning on is hinged and collapsible. With a loud crash the board folds under my weight. I lose my balance but pick myself up just in time to avoid landing on the floor. I lick my lips and run a hand through my hair.

The young woman is watching me. I don't think she noticed though; I bet it just looked like a cool dance move or something.

"Yeah… I just blew into town last night, got in a few scraps, the usual." I glance at my hand and flex so she can see how muscular my arms are. "Yeah… so I'm looking... for work… anything… wood... chopping… boxing... you know…" I keep all my muscles tense and it's making it hard to talk.

She snorts. "Right." Her hair flutters as she turns and exits through the bead veil, but I can still hear her call. "Grampa! There's this constipated kid here to see you!"

I deflate and scowl.

A rolling sound and soft splats catch my attention. Charla has climbed onto one of the shelves and is trying to help herself to the oranges, knocking a few loose.  
"No girl! Those are expensive! Bad!"

I pull her away. Charla puffs a disgusted plume of smoke from her nostrils.

"You wanted something kid?" A deep and guttural voice asks.

I stand.

A short old man wipes his hands on his smudged apron. Wispy hair sticks out the sides of his otherwise balding head. His skin is so thickly covered with liver spots that most of them have joined together.

"Yes. I'm looking for work sir." I stand square and meet his eye.

He grunts. "What sort of work?"

"Anything sir. I'm strong; I'll put my hand to anything sir."

He huffs. "You don't look it. How old are you?"

"Fifteen sir. I've worked a plough sir. I can work sir."

The old man studies me more closely, I resist the urge to fidget.

"Well… Carrie is looking for an apprentice, but… I think you're looking for something more temporary. Am I right?" He gestures to Charla. "Just another broke trainer eh?"

I bow my head. "Please sir, I'll work hard."

He gives a huffing laugh. "Well… it just so happens I need a delivery boy. My back is not what it was and I don't want Rebecca working the routes. She is studying to be in the Council you know." The grocer puffs out his chest proudly.

"I would do it." I say quickly.

"Of course you will. You need the work boy. You are to start at o-five sharp. The pay is 5 denards a day, plus one meal. If you need board then that's 2 denards a day. I don't tolerate slackards or drunkards so you had better be early and orderly.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Start at dawn. Rebecca will have the cart ready for you tomorrow but after that I expect you to have it ready yourself."

"Yes sir. I understand."

He grunts in response. "Me name's Jacob Pierce. You will address me as Mr. Pierce. Your name boy?"

"Josh sir, Josh Colburn."

"Well Josh I will be seeing you tomorrow." Mr. Pierce turns to leave then pauses, glancing at me. "Boy, by chance did you come through the Blackwood Forest?"

"Yes sir."

"Did you see… anything unusual?"

I tense. "Like what sir?"

"Like a Darkrai?"

I drop my gaze. "No."

I wasn't sure why I lied.

"Of course you didn't…" Mr. Pierce began to hobble away, muttering to himself. "Interesting…"

To be continued…

Authors Note:

Okay I know I haven't done any pokemon battles. I promise they're coming. What kind of pokemon story doesn't have battles? Anyway comments or criticisms welcome as always.

Zakar.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Hunter, young hunter, you stray far from home._

_Wander the night's eye, forever alone._

_Hunter, young hunter, you bear the dark coat._

_Soon we shall come and tear out your throat._

_THUD! _The sound travels through the ground, resonating through my bed.

I'm awake, my heart thumping sickeningly hard. Just a bad dream, the third one tonight.

For a moment the unfamiliar room confuses me. The door is in the wrong place and my scratchy woollen blankets are thinner than usual.

_Board. That's right; I took board with Mr. Pierce. I have to go to work today…_

I groan and glance at my Pokegear. The red lights hover above my removed glove.

_4.12am _

My alarm is set for 5.00am. There is no way I'm getting back to sleep now. I hate being woken by an alarm and the horrible heart racing feeling that it leaves behind. Much like this.

Nerves make me fidget. My mind courses with the things I will need to do come dawn. Simple things, like where I left my socks (at the foot of my bed), how to get out the narrow hall and into the stable-yard, where the light switch is…

Time takes a long time to pass when it is being watched, the temperamental bitch. When it feels like some time has passed, I glance at the glowing red numbers.

_4.15am…_

…

_4.19am…_

…

_4.21am…_

…

_4.22am…_

_I swear that clock is slow…_

…_._

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I jump, the horrible tight-chested feeling making me feel sick.

I hate alarms!

I fumble in the dark to find the light switch, and fail.

_Where the hell are my socks?_

I growl and pull on my shoes without them.

It takes me what feels like an hour to find my way out of the hall and into the stable-yards. A solar lamp dimly greets me as I open the backdoor to the dusty stall

"You're late."

I jump at Rebecca's voice, but not because she gave me a fright. Okay, maybe I wasn't expecting her yet, but no, she didn't give me a fright. I never get frights.

I quickly flatten my hair, then wonder if it makes me look stupid and mess it up again. I haven't looked at her yet so she can't have seen me.

_Be cool man…_

"Hey…" I make my voice sound deep and manly. Sheilas love that.

Rebecca rolls her eyes. "You've got about thirty deliveries today- whatever. The cart's ready, the list is on the seat. I'm busy so…" She makes a vague shooing gesture with her hands before exiting though the stable doors.

The rickety cart doesn't look very stable; it's hitched to an aging Ponyta gelding. Its fiery mane and tail have dimmed and shortened with the years and its back has swayed with long hours of work. I give it a cautious pat but it doesn't seem to care. I climb into the wagons seat, squishing over slightly as Charla takes seat beside me. I take up the reins and cluck my tongue. The Ponyta raises its head then reluctantly pulls forward.

_This isn't too bad… just like driving the Tauros and plow…_

I definitely need the money, and this beats farming…

….

After the twenty-fifth delivery I change my mind.

The sway of the wagon is making me nauseated. The constant groan of unoiled wood makes my teeth grit. It's absolutely freezing. And I am tired.

_Okay… just four more to go…_

"Whoa boy."

The Ponyta halts in front of one of Dewtown's out-skirting houses. This box is thankfully lighter the others. Charla has stopped trying to follow me now and has instead curled up asleep on the passenger's side. I'm not complaining, she tripped me up at about the sixth house. Took me over ten minutes to pick everything up again.

Three boys run into the large warehouse next door. Then four more a few minutes later. And another one.

_What's going on here?..._

I drop the box at the doorstep and go to investigate. The door to the warehouse is wide open so I just let myself in.

"Bets, place your bets here. 5-4 on Trent Barfield and his Raichu, 110-1 on Kelvin Blake and his Marill. Gotta love a trier eh? Who knows, maybe he'll beat the odds." A short man in a shady hat rushes to print tickets from a box worn about his generous waist.

I push through the crowds. White lines paint a rough arena about twenty-four foot across. The two trainers stand at either end of the rectangle. I recognise one from the trainers centre yesterday, Trent and his Raichu. He's looking very confident. The younger boy with the rather undersized Marill, not so much.

"LAST ROUNDS!" The bookie yells, and when none approached shouted. "TRAINERS! TO MARK! BEGIN!" A bell dings.

The Raichu rears onto its hind legs, I can hear its electric charges crack, shorting through the floor.

"KEEP BACK ZU!" The younger shouts to his Maril. "WATER GUN!"

The Marill draws breath, and then shoots three streams of jetting water at the Raichu.

"HAI, HA!" Is all Trent says to his Pokémon. The Raichu grounds itself with its yellow tail. Its electrical discharge travels through the air as visible lightning. The air cracks with the heat.

The crowd jumps back in alarm, but the Raichu's control is perfect. The Marill didn't have a chance; it lays twitching on the ground, its breathing too rapid.

The kid trainer is handed a rubber blanket to pick up his Pokémon, and advised to keep it in a dark place, hopefully it'll recover.

The bookie hands out the payments. The Raichu was hot favourite, so he pays out bugger all. He then calls to Trent. "Anymore?"

Trent shakes his head.

The shady bookie calls out. "What a performance eh? A Pigeotto, an Ekans and a Marill! Well fellas that's it for today. Think you're man enough to take on the Arena? We'll be gathering next Thursday, same place, same time, till then watch your backs and keep it low eh?"

I see Trent approach the bookie for his share of the money, carefully stowed beneath his sports jacket. He nods then walks toward me.

_Uh oh. _

"Hey Joshie!" Not too bad eh?"

I grunt non-committally.

"How's your training going. You like the Arena, bloody fantastic; you can earn a year's wages in a day here." Trent says cheerily.

"How much did you make?"

He tutted. "That's for me to know. But you should enter, next week on Thursday."

"I have other plans." I mutter.

"What, work? You're a trainer man! You're going to keep that Charmander hidden forever? Look it's great, it's a ten denard entry fee for Rank one, twenty for rank two, then the winner gets the entire pool."

That sounds like a lot of money. My interest is picking up.

"Anyway might see you there eh Joshie?" Trent tries to ruffle my hair but I jump out of the way.

Deliveries, I had better finish them. I hurry back to the cart without as much as a good-bye

Charla is most unhappy about being left behind. As soon as I sit beside her she bites my hand. I curse and push her off.

Man she can bite hard! And I'm pretty sure that was just an annoyed warning nip. There are about four or five puncture marks in my hand, none too deep, luckily. Oh well just more scars for my ever impressive collection. I should show them to Rebecca. She'll be so impressed.

It's dark by the time I make it back to the general store. I put away the old Ponyta and toss it a flake of hay. I just want to sleep.

The door swings open and Rebecca emerges. I Jump, then scold myself for doing so.

"Heyyyyy." Rebecca says, clearly mocking.

Heat flushes my face, not helped by my state of hunger. I haven't eaten anything today.

Rebecca tosses me a brown paper bag. "It's your meal, and your pay."

It's like she read my mind, she's amazing! I dive for the bag and tear it open, pocketing the two coins, then searching for food.

Two pieces of bread.

"What's this?"

"It's your meal kid, I just told you." Rebecca replies, annoyed.

"These are scraps!"

"Well if you don't want it I'll take it back."

"No I want it." I clutch the bread protectively.

Rebecca smirks. "Don't forget to pack the cart for tomorrow." She calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

I groan, more so when I see the forty boxes I have to carry. Grumbling, I gulp down the first piece of bread then tear the second in half and give a bit to Charla. She snatches it away, crawling under a hollow crate to eat it.

I then get to work on the boxes.

All this for two denards a day. I do some quick math. That was all I was ever good at school was math and eating other people's lunches. I figure by Thursday I will have twelve denards, enough to enter the Arena. That is if I don't starve and have to buy food first. I cringe, And that also leaves six days to train Charla.

My eyes are beginning to hurt. Tired I venture back into my room, Charla following behind. I strip off my shirt and shoes, wincing at the blisters punishing me for my lack of socks.

I rub my eyes and glance at my Pokegear.

12.45am…

Dammit I need to sleep!

…

12.46am…

…

12.50am…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!  
I groan and push myself up. The darkness is tangibly thick. Surely I had only just fallen asleep.

I hate alarms. This is the fourth time it has wakened me. My fourth day on the job.

I don't feel good. My stomach hurts with a deep hollow ache; it's the first thing I notice. As soon as I move my shoulder and back muscles catch, not quite painful but uncomfortably stiff.

Pins and needles trickle up my arm. My hand is swollen and red, especially around Charla's bite marks. I really hope it doesn't fester; I've already washed it with tea-tree oil and I can't afford a doctor if it gets worse.

The past two days have been hell. But I think today will be easier, there are only eight deliveries, less than half a day's work.

Yesterday I found some old tangled fishing line and spent a couple of hours untangling it and making snares last night. I've lost about five kilos over the past six days; I'm going hunting.

The old Ponyta whickers a hungry greeting as I toss him his morning hay. He's stopped trying to burn me every time I touch him now. Maybe he likes me, or maybe he just likes that I feed him. I don't know his name, but I call him Burny.

I leave him to eat as I put on his harness only lifting his head to slip on the thick leather collar, then place the rest on the strapping on his back to prevent tangles. I fasten the ringed girth, twisting it into place. I wait until Burny has finished his hay before backing him into place between the wooden poles of the cart. After pushing them through the rings I fasten them tightly.

I grab my snares; I've made about thirty, I'll set them along the small pokemon trails in the back fields and in Blackwood forest when I make my deliveries.

Drawing the reins down, I clamber into the driver's seat, my muscles aching a protest about the hard board seating. I whistle to Charla, who stops her game of chasing moths to climb up beside me.

I swear she's grown.

The sky outside is ominously grey, and the odd spit of rain hits like ice on my injured arm.

….

Miserly rain patters down, a dull grey and brown world. I'm drenched; I gave my coat to Charla. I've put it all on the line for her; I'm not letting that tail light get wet, even if they are designed to handle it.

It was only after two hours in the rain that it occurred to me that I could just put Charla back in her pokeball. A bit late now though. Stupid brain.

At least my delivers are done for the day, and it's only 2.00pm. Time enough to check my snares.

Leaving the cart upon the dirt road, I follow my tracks into the damp forest. Despite the persistent rain, Charla insists on following me.

The muddied forest bears the rich smell of rain; you can almost hear the entangling undergrowth grow. Ferns and native trees drip iced water down my neck, but I'm soon to numb to notice.

The traps were a simple design, one end tied to a stick which I had jammed into the ground, the other end tied in a slip-knot loop. Simple, but effective…. As long as you remember where had you put them…

But at the fourteenth snare I hear a squeal, informing me of both location and success. Underneath the crumbling trunk of a rotting fallen tree I find my catch. A Rattata, caught about the hind legs.

_Finally. _

The Rattata bares its teeth at me, tugging on its leg, but the fishing line only bites down harder. Lines of crystallised blood trace entangled limb and sweat darkens the blue-grey coat of the trapped animal.

I edge around it cautiously, waiting until it stops to pant. Then I dive on the back of its neck, using my other hand to pick up the pokemon by the back legs.

It squeals and struggles, trying to claw, bite, anything.

I grasp the back of its head and pull down in a quick hard motion.

Neck broken, the Rattata gives a few dying twitches, but it can't feel anything now.

I don't even need my knife as the tender skin at the back of the hind legs tears easily by hand. I feel the skin give and rip from the flesh beneath, like removing a tight fitting shirt. I pull it down so the pelt dangles from the front legs and head. Poking a finger through the thin abdominal muscles, I rip the cavity open and let the innards fall. Flicking the carcass toward the ground like a whip, I let the warm organs fall free. The pale intestines pull out with a tug. The heart and lungs would need to be scraped out by fingers but I wasn't bothered. They could stay there, only the haunches are worth having anyway.

I only just remember to check the liver before returning to the cart. The dark red mass is hidden beneath green-greyish guts. I pick it up and rub it through my fingertips.

No pale lumps, no hard growths. It smells of blood. It is clean. No diseases lurk in this flesh.

I was going to wait until I got home to cook it, but my stomach is threatening to eat into my guts if I don't do something soon. I pick a shallow bank to light a fire. A heavy tree root shoulders my right, rising high above my head as a huge redwood. Unfortunately the wood and tinder I gather is oozing water. I stack the blackened sticks in a hollow box pattern, small trigs at the bottom, larger pieces at the top. I tuck a small pile of tinder in the heart and attempt to light it. But no matter how many times I strike my flint, the tinder barely smokes.

_I can't eat it raw, what am I- Oh Charla!_

I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier. "Charla." I point to the pile and give a low whistle. She inhales and spits a small fire ball, two, three until the rising fire is hot enough to dry then burn the wet wood.

I smirk with satisfaction at the wavering flame, then set about preparing my meal.

Using my knife I clean away the damp bark of a fallen stick and skewer the carcass onto it. I set two sticks into a triangle either side of the fire and then place the meat onto it to cook. I'm guessing it will take about an hour.

I turn my attention to my pokemon. "Right Charla, I know we haven't had much time to practice but you're going to have to battle on Thursday so let's see what you've got. Hmm, I know you can use fire. But you've also got claws. Can you use them?"

Charla just stares at me.

I sigh. "Guess there's nothing for but to shout a whole lot of commands and see what happens-"

I rustle cuts me off. I leap to my feet.

_Can't be the Cloak… can't be… was just a dream…_

Then I hear a pokemon's cry.

This is perfect. A Rattata will be ideal practice. "Charla go get it."

Charla looks at me, sitting down, then staring at the cooking meat.

"GO GET IT GIRL!"

My shout startles the Rattata and it dashes from the undergrowth. Charla sees it and leaps to all fours. The hunting instinct has been triggered.

She sprints after it.

_Yes…_

I give a low whistle and Charla blasts a shot of fire, cutting off its escape. The Rattata squeals and backs away, facing Charla. Orange light flickers across the clearing as Charla purrs deep in her throat, her flame tail brightening.

"Go get it. Claws, slash." I urge.

Charla snarls and lunges for the Rattata. The pokemon tackles in defence, knocking Charla off balance. Charla snarls as the rat sinks its teeth into the skin of her nape. Charla spins, snapping, white teeth glinting in the semi-light.

Finally Charla stomps her foreleg onto the Rattata and chomps down on its back.

The Rattata shrieks then twitches, its kicking slowing as death claims it.

Charla releases the rat and sits back on her rump, licking at her scratches.

I swallow, my heart thudding painfully. Bright blood has welled in the bite in Charla's neck, but she doesn't seem too concerned.

I take a breath. "Good girl."

She purrs in response, looking immensely pleased with herself.

I move to pick up the Rattata, no sense in it going to waste.

Charla snatches it, growling. She thinks it's her prey.

I growl. "Drop it."

Charla leaps away from me, taking the rat with her. I chase after her, scrambling through the thorny undergrowth. I only catch her upon reaching the camp clearing. I grab the rat off her, much to her disgust. But too bad.

It'll make a decent feed tomorrow.

Grey smoke fills the hollow of the tree bank. Bugger, my cooking has burnt. I remove it from the fire, turning it quickly and cursing. It's bloody hot!

_A bit black... but it's still good…_

It's starting to hurt now. I drop it on the ground and rub my fingers. It can stay there until it cools. Charla can have the really burnt bits.

I look at the dirt clinging to the blackened fat.

_Just a little dirty, still good though…_

Charla is eyeing the roast with an intensity that I don't like.

"No." I say firmly.

I decide to skin the other Rattata while I wait.

I pick up the carcass, then pause. At Charla's bite marks the rat has swollen, proud flesh bursting through the puncture marks, oozing down the hide.

_What the hell?_

I set it down again, feeling sick.

Charla snatches it back and I make no move to stop her. I pick up the cooked meat and break off one of the blackened haunch muscles. I avoid looking at my injured hand; I don't want to know…

Even though it tastes of bitter pine sap and ash, the food is a huge relief. It warms me from the inside out, filling the painful hollow of my guts. It's the best meal I've ever had and I strip the frail bones clean within minutes.

I lick the last of the bitter grease from my hands and twitch the ring finger of my glove Pokegear.

3.04pm…

Time to go home; I could do with a sleep…

….

My bitten hand itches all the way home; I tuck beneath my recovered coat and refuse to acknowledge it.

Upon arrival in the dusty stables I see Mr Pierce waiting for me, his arms folded.

_Uh oh…_

The old grocer wipes his hands upon his smudged white apron. "Afternoon Josh."

"Afternoon sir." I reply.

He just watches as I untack Burny and let him go in his stall. Mr Pierce hasn't commented yet. Has to be a good thing.

"All done?" He asks.

"Yes sir." I dust my hands on my pants.

"Good… hmm, no complaints this week. Nothing broken or stolen. Not bad." Mr Pierce watches me, making me twitch. "Have a lie-in tomorrow if you want; there's no deliveries. You'll still be paid though, just feed the Ponyta as usual then go do as you please." Mr Pierce's words are stiff as he rises and walks toward the door. Pausing, he looks over his shoulder. "There's a lad here to see you. I told him to wait outside. Should still be there."

"R-right." I hasten outside and hurry along to the front door.

Outside on the dirt streets, a familiar blond boy smiles easily at my approach. "Joshie man, you ready for the Arena?"

I grunt in a so-so way.

Trent smiles, then glances at my hand. "Something bite you?"

"Kind of."

He nods knowledgably. "Might pay to get that looked at, looks like a Poison Fang to me, only mild I'd say, you're a lucky bloke. There are a few Ekans around here, might have been a baby one."

_A poison fang?… shows what he knows…_

Trent continues regardless. "Anyway, you fought in the Arena before?"

"No."

"It's easy, you come in, we draw lots, the odds are set, they gamble, we fight, we win, we get money. The lots are always drawn the night before, so come on, let's go man."

I'm tired, I have work tomorrow, I don't want to, but I relent anyway and follow Trent through Dewtown to its rougher outskirts.

The recent rain hangs damply upon the deadened seeding grasses of the uncut flats as we near the old warehouse. Patchy clouds above cast rippling shadows over the mildew stained storehouse, making it seem as if the crooked building is shifting against the sky.

From the outside the overgrown warehouse seems deserted, but inside a party of around a dozen trainers gather about the shady bookie.

The bookmaker casts a black smile at Trent. "Trent my man, kept it low I see." He points a fat finger at me. "This the one?"

"Yep. This is Josh… something…"

"Colburn." I say, irritated.

"Yeah, Josh Colburn. Write him up will ya Jed?" Trent winks at the bookie. The bookmaker tips his hat and then moves on to talk with a few other trainers.

"Some of em won't sign up, others will take several battles; I'd say we might get about five matches all up." Trent explains, then falls silent as the bookie calls over the voices.

"RIGHT RIGHT! SHUT UP EVERYONE! I'VE GOT THE DRAW RIGHT HERE! WHO'S GONNA HIT IT LUCKY?! WELL LET'S SEE EH?" The shady man pressed a button on the box he wore about his waist and a holographic list of names appeared in the air before him.

The bookmaker pressed another button on the box and the names rearranged into two lists, each trainer's name lined up with another.

Aaron Winds….…Cory Mason

Valerie Sanders….Matthew Guthridge

Tracy Parker…..Aaron Winds

Josh Colburn…..Trent Barfield

Kevin White…Trent Barfield

_I have to fight Trent?_

I glance at him. Trent seems immensely happy with the selections. The bookie's black smile grows wider. "ALL'S DONE! STUDY, REST, GET PISSED, I DON'T CARE! JUST REMEMBER MATCHES START AT 3'o CLOCKISH TOMMOROW!"

….

I lay on my bed, thinking, my guts twisting in tight knots. Trent's a Rank 2 trainer, I haven't even debuted.

Charla has curled up on the foot of my bed, blissfully unaware of how much I'll be counting on her tomorrow.

_This is what it's about… what will be will be…_

I sleep much more soundly with a meal in my belly, but nothing takes away fear of the battle to come, the haunting grey nightmares of the dark cloak, and the familiar yet unknown screams...

…..


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Treading water, grey, unfeeling, cold,_

_The empty hollow of the lonely heart, the darkness incarnate,_

_All consuming hunger, pain the only certainty,_

_The lost voice beckoned him, begged him,_

_For mercy, it cried,_

_Its hand slipped from his, _

_The crushing weight, the drowning breath,_

_Lost within the void,_

_Not even death offered release…_

For a moment I tense, fearing the darkness will crush me. But then my eyes adjust and I see the grey outlines of my storeroom bed.

A dream, just a dream, a bad, scary, annoying dream. I hate this, it's the same one every night, and then there's that horrible heart-racing feeling when you first wake, adrenaline surging and with every fibre ready to either run or fight.

I lie back in my bed, just watching the slightly eerie eyes in the wooden beams above my head. The images are still vivid in my mind's eye. The empty greyness, the crushing feeling of loss, grief, the knowledge of no escape, that the cloak would catch its prey, and I would be trapped there…

I tug my scratchy woollen blankets closer for comfort, unable to stop the slight shaking. The red light of my Pokegear offers some reassurance, but then my mind wanders with what may lay behind the thick darkness of the night.

I feel a movement at the foot of my bed.

I leap upright, scrambling against the head wall and nearly falling between the crack of mattress and wall.

Charla uncurls herself from my blankets, her flame tail softly lighting her form. She cocks her head, watching me.

I swallow. "Stupid pokemon…" I lower myself back into bed and whistle to her. "Come up here then."

Father would give me a hiding if he saw I was letting an animal onto the furniture, especially my bed. But Charla is clearly scared and I'll need her at her best tomorrow. "Come girl." I say reaching to grab her. Charla, flicks her tail and snaps playfully at my hand, dancing out of reach.

I growl and settle back onto my side. "Fine, stay there."

A few seconds later she nudges my back, curling herself up beside me.

Ha! I knew she was scared.

….

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Dammit! I forgot to turn that blasted alarm off! There's no way I'm getting back to sleep now so I hit the lights and make my bed, by make I mean I pick up my blankets off the floor and throw them in a pile on top of the mattress.

I still have my provided meal from yesterday. But my stomach feels so tight that I'm pretty sure it wouldn't fit. I toss the two pieces of bread to Charla, who snatches them and dashes under my bed to eat them.

She's going to need it more than I will.

I brush the stale crumbs from my palms, my hand itching. Carefully I unfurl it, twisting my wrist so I can see better in the lamp's mild light. It doesn't seem as bad today, still very red but the punctures have closed and with only a slight yellow crusting inside the breaks in the skin.

At least something seems to be going right.

I stand and stretch, feeling some tired muscles catch. I had better feed that Burny but after that I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. The red light of my Pokegear vanishes as I pick up the glove and carefully slip it on.

I follow the darkened hall to its end and push open the hefty door, entering the attaching stables. I hit the grimy light switch and I'm immediately greeted by Burny's whicker. I grab a flake of hay from the neighbouring stall and toss it into his enclosure. Reaching over the stable half-door I give Burny a quick scratch, absently watching the sky from the open barn door.

Maybe a walk will clear my head. The heavily grey sky is just hinting at rain, slight specks of rain fluttering inside with the breeze, cold upon exposed skin.

Burny raises his greying head, munching his breakfast and dropping chewed bits of hay on the arm I have so foolishly resting on his door.

I give him a rub between the eyes, thinking. Trent. I have to fight Trent, or at least Charla does. I had better see what we're up against.

I twitch the index finger of my PokeGear, then tap my pinkie down until I find Trent's profile, expanding it with another tap.

**N****ame:** Trent Barfield

**Gender:** Male

**DOB:** 15:3:2013

**Age:** 19

**Trainer No:** 2337841

**Rank**: 2

**Season Reg Battles:** 23

**Wins:** 20

**Losses:** 3

**Pokémon: **Raichu, Sparrow, Arbok, Croconaw

He's only allowed one pokemon against me, since I'm only a Rank one. But which one? I open the extended file for each pokemon.

…...

**Species:** _Pichas Electricas_

**Gender:** Male

**Evolutionary state:** Raichu (Mature)

**Age:** 9yrs

**Season Battles:** 12

**Wins:** 12

**Losses:** 0

…

**Species:** _Sparrow Aviatora_

**Evolutionary state:** Sparrow

**Gender:** Male

**Age:** 12 months

**Season Battles**: 1

**Wins:** 0

**Losses:** 1

…..

**Species:** _Ekarbok Toxicities_

**Gender**: Male

**Evolutionary** **state**: Arbok (Mature)

**Age**: 5yrs

**Season** **Battles**: 6

**Wins**: 5

**Losses**: 1

….

**Species**: _Crocnagator Aqua_

**Gender**: Female

**Evolutionary** **state**: Croconaw

**Age**: 14yrs

**Season** **Battles**: 2

**Wins**: 1

**Losses**: 1

…...

A red triangle flashes beside the Croconaw's losses. I flick my finger and open it.

**Bowed tendon; spelled 6 months. Remaining time unavailable: 4 months.**

Okay, at least he won't be using the Water type Croconaw. But then I don't like the sound of that Arbok, and as for that Raichu, well, I've already seen just what it can do. I don't think he'll use that Sparrow; it looks like he only just got it. But if he's catching wild pokemon rather than buying them, it can only mean he is a talented trainer.

I feel sick.

I glance at my PokeGear, tugging on one of the rings to reveal the time. It's still a while to go until 3.00pm. I could go out and check my traps, but I really don't feel like it.

I whistle to Charla. Might as well start the walk there.

….

The wind howls through the blackwood trees that shroud us, the packed dirt path gritting slightly under each step. It reminds me eerily of the night I meet that Cloak. If it was real. I really don't know; it feels like it was one of my dreams... one of my nightmares.

A Farfetched caws angrily above my head, jolting me out of my daydreams.

The iron warehouse is just up ahead, the last outskirt of town. Overgrown seeding grasses make the building appear like it is sinking back into nature. The winter's sun shines bright through the grey cloud layer, casting ripples across the dull rusted building. The corrugated sliding door is shut and paddocked, so I suppose I'll have to just wait outside.

I sit upon an old, overgrown plow, rust quickly colouring my fingers. Our battle will be one of the last.

Time drags when it is watched, each minute passing as slowly as an hour. I lie back just watching the clouds, every now and then wondering if that spit of rain will intensify.

….

It's nearly three and I can hear the other trainers arriving. I should probably watch some of the fights; get to know what we're in for. I whistle to Charla and enter the iron warehouse. The dirt floor is well compacted, probably from the constant foot traffic. The Arena takes up the bulk of the warehouse, a painted rectangle that doesn't seem to impose many boundaries to the crowd.

To the left of the building there's about five or seven bookmakers, busy accepting Pick-Five bets. From a hand-written chalk board I can see that Pick-Fives are a bet of who would be victor in each match. The winnings accumulate and the prize to one who guessed all five winners correctly would be in the thousands, depending on the odds of each winner. But only if they can guess all five.

The first match is about to begin and the noise told of it. I catch a glimpse of Trent, he's leaning against the far wall with a few of his mates. I wonder if he's really that calm. I don't know how anyone could be.

A light flickers above my head, catching my eye. A few moments later a shaky hologram beams above the Arena.

Match 1

Aaron Winds VS Cory Mason  
Golduck Vulpix

Odds on:

2:3 vs. 1: 99

Every minute the hologram changes to a list of the matches to come.

2: Valerie Sanders VS Matthew Guthridge

3: Tracy Parker VS Aaron Winds

4: Kevin White VS Trent Barfield

5: Josh Colburn VS Trent Barfield

_Funny, I could have sworn I was second to last before…_

The two trainers approach either side of the painted ring. Cory already has his Vulpix ready. The deep russet fox has a few scrapes of bare black skin showing through its rather coarse coat. Aaron is tossing a pokeball with an air of arrogance. He catches it and presses the release button. The pixelated light pours from the capsule system, solidifying into the deep metallic silver kappa-like pokemon. Its powerful beak gleams in the dusty light like polished ivory.

I might not know much about training pokemon, but I know when an animal is in good condition. I'm actually tempted to put money on it. I wonder what the gambling age is with this. But then again those odds are so low it's barely worth it.

"LAST ROUNDS! LAST ROUNDS!" The bookmakers call, gaining a few more punters.

I lean against the corrugated iron wall, whistling Charla to my heel. I pluck a stand of the seeding grass poking through the bottom of the chipped wall, peeling away the outer dead matter to chew on the end. Charla seems content just to snap at the remaining grass.

"ALL RIGHT! BETTING FOR MATCH ONE IS OVER!"

Half the crowd gathers interestedly around the Arena, but the others prefer to watch the match on the hologram while chatting with companions.

The sharp ding of a bell spurs the pokemon into battle. Snarling, the Vulpix spits three balls of fire at her enemy.

Aaron clicks his tongue and his Golduck responds with a jetting water attack.

The Vulpix staggers out of the way, shooting yet more fire. Cory is shouting commands uncertainly, but the Vulpix seems to have made its own mind.

Aaron makes three sharp clicks and his Golduck responds with a high pitched screech. I duck my head and clasp my ears, as does everyone else watching. The screech rings and aches inside my head, leaving a throbbing headache as it fades.

I look up. The Golduck grasps the fox, slicing down its body with devastatingly long claws. The Vulpix gave a sharp squeal of pain, bright blood pooling across its shoulders.

"Golduck back!" Aaron calls. His pokemon paused, glancing at its prey, then sheepishly returned to its master.

The victorious punters cheer and congratulate themselves; most have gotten the first win of their Pick Five.

The Vulpix lay in a shuddering heap, its breathing shallow and irregular.

The salty stench of warm blood makes my already tight stomach churn. "Come on Charla." I swallow and push my way to the broad sliding door, letting myself and her outside.

_If we lose…_

I stroke Charla on the back of her head, her orange skin cool and smooth under mine. Charla purrs, nudging my hand to an itchy spot behind her shoulders.

This was the game I chose to play. If I lose, then I lose. At least I tried.

I really hope I don't lose…

….

Charla and I spend the next two hours outside. I can hear the bookies calling last rounds before each match. I can hear the growls and cries of brawling pokemon, I can hear the cheers and groans as the winners are decided.

NEXT MATCH! CALLING TRENT BARFIELD AND JOSH COLBURN!

I suck in a breath and take to my feet. "Come on girl." I murmur.

Charla follows eagerly. Never before have I felt like such dirt.

The atmosphere inside the warehouse has changed, now smoke chokes the room, which strangely seems much warmer than before. Alcohol taints the air to the point of being able to taste it on the back of the tongue. A few flies zip about the drying blood stains, perhaps the only ones thriving in the heat.

I take position on the right side of the Arena, just trying not to throw up.

Trent takes his place opposite me, smiling, encouraging the roars from the drunken crowd.

I just stare at the packed dirt before me.

I hear the distinctive click of a pokeball and glance up in time to see Trent release his pokemon.

_Sparrow… Sparrow… come on… and please not Arbok…_

The pokeball's light dissipated leaving in its place a large and golden pokemon. The Raichu slams its tail into the ground, its black eyes never leaving mine. The very air seems electrified as I call Charla to the fore.

Above us the hologram flashes our names to everyone.

Match 5

Josh Colburn VS Trent Barfield

Odds on:

300:1 vs. 1:10

Once again the crowd chooses to either gather around or sit and drink.

From somewhere far away, the bell rings.

"Charla!" I give a low whistle. Charla looks startled but obeys, drawing in breath then spurting liquid fire at the Raichu.

Trent smirks. "Hyaa HAI!"

The Raichu, leaps aside, sprinting toward Charla, spinning then slamming its tail into her.

Charla hit the ground sprawling.

"Charla! HIST!" I call.

The charmander rolls back onto her feet, growling, her original training kicking in. She dashes toward the Raichu, aiming to slash it across the face.

The Raichu jolts a slight shockwave, making Charla flinch.

"Ah HAI!" Trent calls.

Raichu begin charging an electrical field, lightning cracking and shorting in the thick smog.

Charla shook herself, then lunged forth, sinking her teeth into the side of Raichu's nape.

Raichu snarled, losing its momentum, its charge dissipating.

Trent nodded. "HAI KISSSST!"

The Raichu struggled then paused, panting heavily. It dropped onto its side, lying quietly.

Charla kept her grip, climbing up higher its body and redoubling her hold.

The bell dinged. The shady bookie called out. "TIME! VICTORY TO JOSH COLBURN!"

_What?_

The crowd seems equally stunned. Then angry yells begin to break out. "He was 10:1 friggin favourite!"

"CAN'T BE RIGHT!"

"BULLSHIT!"

"FOUR WINNERS! FOUR WINNERS! AND THEN HE COMES IN AT 300 TO ONE!"

From across the room the shady bookmaker hurries to my side and grabs my arm, hoisting it over my head. "WE HAVE A WINNER! Congratulations lad, to the victor the spoils as they say." He chuckles at his own joke then hands me a brown paper bag, patting me on the back.

I feel numb. I see Trent recall his Raichu, causing Charla to back away as the pixelated light vanishes the pokemon. Out of the corner of my eye I see him approach the shady bookie, smirking. A small brown bag passes between them, which Trent swiftly pockets.

The noise of the angry crowd is becoming deafening. I whistle Charla to my side, unsure what I'm supposed to do.

A rough hand grabs my shoulder and tugs me back. "Ought to get out of here man. Best not to hang around." Trent smiles easily and leads me outside, almost shoving me down a sidepath. The tall overgrown grasses soon give way to young trees, thickly concealing the old warehouse from view. It is only once we are out of sight of the Arena does Trent let me go.

Trent glances over his shoulder. "Weehoo eh? Man, good battle. See, I told you the Arena's well worth it."

I rub the bruise on my shoulder. "I beat you? Really?"

"Yeah yeah nah, of course you did eh?" Trent smiles again. "Anyway it was a good one. You up for a drink?"

I shake my head, still in shock.

Trent shrugs. "Ah well another time maybe? I'll probably talk to you later. See ya later man."

I pretty much just stand there until Charla nips my hand. I glance at her, then look over my shoulder. Angry voices echo through the trees, there exact location unknown. Maybe it is best not to hang around. I start running, feeling the ground jar through my legs and ribs.

I don't stop until the trees give way to the stone houses of Dewtown. The cobble stone street curves up to the front door of the general store. I leap the stairs and push through the door. I exited the store through the beaded back door, through the dark toward the storeroom.

I burst into my room, pacing.

I won, I actually won.

I sit on my bed, amazed and happy. I could make it, I might actually make it. The lamp's light trances orange outlines of my hands. I check the bite. It hasn't changed, but I should get it looked at. I can afford it now.

Yeah I can afford it. I sit up and tip the fluttering contents of the brown bag onto my blankets and count. 48 – 49 – 50 - 52. 52 denards!

It's more money than I've ever seen. "Charla come on!" I rise and go into the store and grab one of the oranges she's always trying to steal. I toss a coin onto the vacant counter and hurry back to my room.

_I have money, we won a match, and against Trent. It's going to work out!_

I toss the orange to Charla and she leaps after it, rolling it around then pouncing on it. After about ten minutes she disappears under my bed with her prize, the straw mattress muffling her growls of pleasure.

I lie back on my bed.

_I don't have to go home. _

Home.

I wonder how Father is holding up. When I left the barley had just been cut and gathered, so there should be little to do for now.

But… what if he can't cope without me? Does he miss me? Does he even care?

I shift over to the rustic desk that lies across from my bed. Pinching one of the pieces of paper and choosing one of the pens, trying to think of what to write.

…_Father you told me I couldn't make it, that I should stay home with you. Well, I've won a battle now, and I'm doing just fine for myself…_

… _I hope you asked the Donaweys to help you with the squash.._

…_Charla has grown, she's getting stronger every day…_

…_Well I hope you're doing alright, there should be enough wood in the shed to see you through to spring anyway, I know your leg troubles you in the cold… Ask the Donawey's boy, he'll help you…_

_.. Look I'm sorry I left, but it's something I have to do alright…_

_.. I'll come visit sometime if I can… I love you dad… _

I stare at what I have actually written

_**Josh.**_

That's all. Father can't read but I hope he might recognise my name at least. I hope he knows I didn't do this out of hate or spite.

I count out ten denards and wrap the coins in a piece of linin jam cloth. This at least will keep him in food and warmth for most of the year anyway. If he knows I have money, then he'll know I'm alright. I hope.

I fold the letter up. I'll take it to the Pidgey Delivery Box tomorrow.

My thoughts briefly wander back to my other parent. My mother.

Odd emotions stir in my gut. It must be what, two, three years since I last saw her. I used to live with her in Juan City, after she split with my father seven years ago. She remarried, of course, but… It doesn't matter, she chose him, I went back to live with my Father. She is fine. She could call me if she wanted.

I pick at my fingernails and slide the desk chair back.

Charla hasn't appeared yet from under the bed. But that's fine by me. Adrenaline has left me exhausted, and I have deliveries to make in the morning.

The excitement of the day pools in my chest.

_I won._

I might have some trouble getting to sleep tonight...

_Sinking down into the depths of heavy nothing,_

_The breath driven from body, the life stripped from existence's plane,_

_Six lives in exchange for one, an eternal cycle,_

_But for nought, in light exists dark, in right exists wrong, the evitable fate,_

_The dark cloak twisted, solidified, the vivid image of his hellish dreams_

_Its voice was the whisper of wind in trees, the rustle of leaves upon soil…_

_The shriek of metal being torn apart, the shudder of a life ended_

_IF YOU THOUGHT THE NIGHTMARES WERE BAD THEN YOU KNOW NOTHING OF HELL_


End file.
